Stained
by Kate of Carlay
Summary: She was always going to rule the Isles. It was always meant to be. Imajane would always be remembered. Written for the MoT Challenge "Always"


_**Authors Note: Heresan entry for the Men of Tortall forum's monthly challenge. This month's challenge was "Always". If you ever have some time be sure to check it out, its lots of fun! :D**_

_**I am not tamora Pierce.**_

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"Always!" she screamed and beat her fists on the door. Rough hands had thrown her into this room, and left her shrieking at them through the heavy wood. "I will always be your queen!"

A sob threatened to rip through her chest, but she held it back. She always knew that she would die a queen, it was meant to be. She had to be remembered for the rest of her days, always, and forever.

Clutching her hands in her skirt, she stepped away from that confining door and began to take slow steps through the room. She hated this room; it always felt like a prison to her, it never had enough windows, too much wood panels, and not enough gold inlays.

Her hand reached out and grasped a fine, heavy hand mirror from the bureau; its bold design of flying horses was etched in thin strips of gold, but it was built to be strong. It was something that would be forgotten with time though, maybe not to her, but others would not remember it unless it was made unforgettable, by someone who was always going to be remembered.

Her face twisted into a scowl and hurled the mirror at that solid door behind her. The glass shattered, falling to the floor in pieces. The heavy metal back bent and clattered to the floor. She smiled though, seeing the mark left in the door. That dent in the wood would always be there, now.

She must remain. She had to be here. It was always supposed to be her rule. She would always rule. Always.

Perfectly cared for hands played over the furniture as the thought of being forgotten played in her mind. Her old tutor had once told her that the victors' side of a story was always remembered because they were the ones that wrote the history books. She had ignored him then, but now she didn't want to be forgotten as a side mark in history. No, she would always be a part of it, she would write the history book.

She took quick, precise steps to her writing desk, fingering a quill while she thought about this, a letter would do her no good here. Letters fade, like the people that wrote them. She needed something that could never be forgotten, something that stains forever. A visible stain. Something that would always be there.

Her eyes fell upon a heavy wall hanging, it portrayed flowers framed by arrows, and she looked at the weapons carefully.

_The queen who single handedly crushed a riot—no—destroyed a national insurrection and defied a prophet of the gods. _

That would surely keep her in the history books. She could write it then. That could not be possible though. It could never happen. And she needed something that would last forever.

She looked out onto her balcony, she heard the screams of battle, the smell of blood was thick in the air, that jumped up little raka was flying around on that stupid horse…the smell of blood was thick in the air.

That was it. She needed to stain the history books. Something no matter how hard they tried they could not write out of their history. She would always be a part of this country.

Her steps lengthened; each stride more meaningful than the last.

She would always be here; they could never really remove her. The tiles in the courtyard below her balcony stained easily. The only way to really get rid of any stain would be to remove all the tiles and place new stone. Even then she would be remembered for the cause of replacing the ruined stones.

She would always be here, it was inevitable. All the things that were inevitable have come; the raka rising, her husband's death, her rule as queen.

Now, there was one more inevitability that must be secured. The one that would stain this country with her for good. She would always be remembered.

Her hand clutched the railing; soft pink lace was tugged at by the gentle breeze. This was it. Her time. The stones below would always be stained with her blood after this day.

She threw herself into the air and let the ground come rushing up to bring upon the demise that would always be her salvation and greatest deed.

The inevitable had come, just like it always would. After all, life always ends in death. Always.


End file.
